The Room Filled
The Room Filled I ran home from school, stomped up the worn wooden steps, slammed open the front door and yelled, “Mum! Mum, I’m home!” “Michael, I’m right here!” Mum appeared around the corner. “Stop yelling. What if your father had been sleeping? You know he works nights.” “Sorry, Mum,” I mumbled and hung my head in shame. “I didn’t mean to yell.” “If you had woken him, you know how mad he would have been.” “I just wanted to show you my spelling test.” I handed her my test. “I got a gold star.” “You got another one?” She smiled. “Good for you! You always study so hard, but you have to remember not to yell when you come in the house.” “I know, Mum, but I was excited and wanted to show you.” I lied. Dad drank a lot. If he had too much, he’d argue with Mum. I was afraid she’d leave. My two older brothers and I would be alone with him. What if I came home and she was gone? It was a fear I lived with most of my childhood. I needed to know she was there. Years later, I moved away for my first job. Each evening, I’d open the door to a lonely, empty room. I didn’t call out for Mum. I
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